


almost lovers always do

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, soft, technically canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: should've known you'd bring me heartache, almost lovers always doA soft moment.





	almost lovers always do

**Author's Note:**

> two hours into my shift today i was struck by the first couple lines of this fic and had to write it, and then made myself sad and almost cried at work. so, of course, i gotta share this quick little one-off with y'all. enjoy, and be sad!

Negan opens his eyes to see one crystal clear baby blue iris staring back at him. He stifles a gasp, tamps down his shock, and reaches out instead. Carl grins, almost shy, and tilts his face into the touch. His skin is soft and unmarred under Negan’s hand; even the scar around his right eye seems less jagged. Carl’s good eye flutters as Negan trails his touch down his jaw, his neck, across his collarbones. His touch drags, calloused fingertips on unblemished pink, and Negan drinks in the sensation greedily.

“You keep that up,” Carl starts, voice sounding far away and dreamy, “and we won’t get anything done today.”

Negan scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Like I give a damn.” He finally shuffles closer under the covers and wraps Carl in his grip. Despite the sudden, burning lust in his veins, he doesn’t move further than that. He holds Carl in a bear hug until the kid is squirming and laughing and kicking lightly at his shins. “Jus’ lemme have this,” Negan demands—no, _pleads_. His voice is a soft plea, barely above a whisper, and Carl acquiesces immediately.

He melts into Negan’s hold and hums. “Alright. We can take a day.” His words are muffled against Negan’s neck where he’s tucked himself, just as he always does. He says it makes him feel warm, safe, protected. Negan doesn’t question it, since the juncture of Carl’s neck and shoulder is also one of his favorite places. “We should probably _inform_ someone we’re doing so, though.” Carl finally looks up.

Negan takes in his expression: blurred and ethereal around the edges. His grin is wider and pinker than it’s ever been, and the hint of his teeth peeking through is just this side of childlike. His hair is lush and falls in thick curls over his shoulders. It’ll be a day where he knots it on top of his head, Negan is sure. It’ll be hot out, like it was yesterday, and Carl will be flushed even if they stay in the bedroom all day instead of working outside.

Negan swallows uneasily. “Let ‘em figure it out for themselves. They’ll come a’knocking eventually.”

Carl rolls his eye, but his smile remains. Good-natured and fond, an expression that Negan still isn’t quite familiar with. He never got to see it much, though he’d hazard a guess that it’s his favorite look on Carl. He moves closer again and tucks Carl’s face under his chin. He wants to soak in the beaming light of that expression, wants to let it wash over him and warm him to his toes. But looking at it hurts more than not, and Negan ducks his head to bury into Carl’s luscious hair.

He smells like apples, and wet springtime. He’s never smelled like that before.

Negan closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

“Negan?” Still vague and far-off, Carl speaks.

Negan shakes his head slightly. “Let me have this,” he says once more, firmer. Carl doesn’t speak again but his arms fold around Negan’s back and his nails bite into the scraped-up skin. Negan holds him tighter and Carl never once complains; the sting of his nails fade as he starts to stroke along Negan’s back instead, tapping along each knob of his spine. Negan hides his muffled sob against Carl’s hair, and wants so badly to kiss him.

 

Negan opens his eyes to an empty bed, just as he knew he would. He drifts a hand over the cold side of the mattress, the side Carl had claimed for his own. He wants to cry, and has half a mind not to hide his sob this time. He’s been bottling every single outburst of emotion in the weeks since Carl died. After a few minutes, the urge fades and leaves a bitter emptiness in its wake. He pats the bedside awkwardly and then heaves himself out of bed.

He feels like he ought to say something; something witty or profound or lovely to the empty room. He stops, once he’s dressed, with Lucille swung over a shoulder and his hip cocked. He stops and looks around the bedroom and misses the traces of the kid that used to linger. He cleaned up the stray clothes and leftover trademarks a few days after he died; the room seems barren now.

He leaves; he can’t afford to take a day.  


End file.
